


Goodbye

by Songofpsalms297



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Sorrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:50:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9507299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songofpsalms297/pseuds/Songofpsalms297
Summary: One of my favorite lovebirds is dying.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Worst Thing About Dying](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2954723) by [Glitteringworlds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitteringworlds/pseuds/Glitteringworlds). 



> This work was inspired by the title of another work by Glitteringworlds. I highly recommend Glitteringworlds work! It is all amazing!

The worst thing about dying is, my hand will not grasp yours again. These arms will never know the joy of enclosing your warmth within. This breast will never again know the heaven of your head resting above my heart. Never again will I breathe in your scent, as you drift off to sleep within the protection of these arms. Never again will these hands run through the silk of your locks. Never again will this body, this mouth, these eyes worship yours as you deserve. Never again will these feet run to keep you safe in battle, while you dance on, across the battleground. Never again will this aching soul drink in your presence as we dance. These feet will no longer chase you around our home, more pursued than pursuer, both of us winners when one of us lost.

The worst thing about dying is, these eyes will never again drink their fill of your beauty. The richness of your golden skin, languid, liquid gold, poured out upon our furs. And despite your body’s patient waiting, your eyes full of passionate fire, banked, ready to burn us both. Never again will I see you move with effortless grace across the battlefield, lithe and fierce, a panther wielding her sword and shield. So, fluid in movement, those implements of destruction mere extensions of the power already coiled in your nimble frame. Never again will I catch the spark of mischief in your amber eyes when you have plotted some secret surprise. Never again will I see the flash of disappointment dance across your face when I discovered that secret earlier than you hoped. I will never see that beautiful frown cross your beautiful face, or that tantalizing flush when I have whispered adorations in your perfect ears. Or the blush that comes when you are sipping your favorite Nevarran Red, curled in my favorite chair, in our study. That chair has been my favorite chair since you first sat in it.

The worst thing about dying is never getting the chance to bury myself in the scent of you. Your hair wreathed in lavender and columbine. Your skin smelling of shield polish, cotton, and something spicy, Nevarran, and entirely yours. Your scent as you storm past my desk on your way to train because of something flippant I’ve said that pisses you off. The scent of your fury. The smell of your tears. I’ll never get to stand with you on the shore of the Waking Sea again, breathing in the scent of you, the sea, and those Maker forsaken dragonlings. Ugh. Those stunk to high heaven.

The worst thing about dying is not getting to grow old with you. I don’t know if I will be ripped away from you and sent back to the stone. Maker, if eternity with you is lost because I’m a bastard son of the stone, I don’t know what I will do. Cassandra, you are my heart. My life. My hope. I don’t know if Andraste cares for lovers at all.

 

The worst thing about dying is that this death isn’t mine.


End file.
